


Punch Drunk

by The_Buzz



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Buzz/pseuds/The_Buzz
Summary: Matt gets hit on the head by a cinder block and winds up staggering into Foggy's apartment. Never mind that Foggy isn't speaking to him. Also, oops, Matt might've just accidentally admitted to being in love with him for the last ten years.





	Punch Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during Soule's run when Foggy is still pissed at Matt about the purple children erasing his memory, and is not speaking to him. That said, it's kind of been a while since I actually read those issues and some details might be off, if you care about that sort of thing.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy and please leave a comment!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as avocadosat-law (MattFoggy blog) or the-buzz-ao3 (main blog).

The hallway smelled like pizza. The sharp tang of the tomatoes, the oil in the cheese, the yeast in the dough and the pungent scent of the oregano permeated the air. Matt could almost taste it.

He was going to be sick.

He staggered, hitting the wall with his shoulder and grunting in pain. His radar could sketch out the hallway in front of him, and for a moment it seemed infinitely long, or maybe wavering, like the lines in the Pink Floyd-themed laser show his dad had taken him to once when he was in elementary school. His ears were ringing, kind of like they had been back then. He hadn't seen the point of it, though his dad had loved it, and he hadn't really gotten the chance to revisit the experience.

Focus.

He pushed off the wall and kept walking, deliberately, toward the door at the end. Toward salvation. Toward...Foggy.

"Oh my god!"

Foggy's voice cut through the haze and Matt realized he was on his knees, the hallway still glitching oddly in his mental eye as his brain tried and failed to piece the input from his radar together. Nngh. He had to get up.

Hands on his shoulders. One gliding through his hair, because at some point his hood had come off, gliding over the golf ball-sized lump near his temple. Pizza wasn't Foggy's, thank God, but the smell was still wafting through the hallway. Matt's stomach churned again and it took all his concentration and willpower to not lose the contents of his stomach over Foggy's shoes. Hand on his cheek, a light caress that slid down the side of his neck to his back and rubbed a comforting circle over his spine.

"Matty, you gotta get up," Foggy murmured. "You're in the middle of the hallway. In my new apartment building. Come on."

Foggy hadn't been talking to him, before now. Matt considered this an improvement. Foggy had even busted out a "Matty." He tried to recall exactly when he'd decided to show up at Foggy's door but all he could remember was a cinder block flying toward his head and a solid blow.

Arm wrapped around his chest. Ribs creaking. Foggy was heaving him to his feet. Foggy was really strong, stronger than he remembered, or maybe, Matt was in slightly worse shape than he thought. Matt swayed and leaned into him and smelled his aftershave and soap and something muskier that was just _Foggy_ and then he blanked out again and when he'd gotten his bearings back he was stretched out on a leather couch he didn't recognize at all, because Foggy hadn't invited him to his new apartment yet.

Shit. Shit, shit.

One blow to the head and he'd forgotten about giving Foggy space, forgotten about Sam, and showed up punch-drunk in Foggy's hallway like Foggy owed him something.

Matt rolled not at all gracefully off the couch as a new wave of nausea surged up his throat, and he landed on the floor--hardwood, recently Swiffered--with a thump before staggering up and trying to locate the bathroom as his senses swam. God, his head hurt.

"Matt!"

Foggy was coming from... somewhere, coming up behind Matt, and putting a shoulder under Matt's arm before Matt could hit the floor again.

"Gonna be sick," Matt grunted. Maybe. He was pretty sure he was slurring his words but it was hard to tell by how much. Or what or how much of what he was thinking was coming out of his mouth at all, for that matter.

But then, Foggy had always understood him better than anyone. A short stumble through the dark and he felt his knees hit the tile, the caustic burn of bleach and lemon cleaner and dust and old toothpaste and a pipe just starting to rust assaulting his nose and throat as he bent over the toilet. One of Foggy's hands gripped his shoulder while the other rubbed his back again.

He heaved, painful ribs spasming, and brought up only bile that burned his throat and made him gag harder, spitting and curling miserably over the cool toilet bowl. Foggy was murmuring something in a comforting tone, but Matt couldn't focus long enough to parse the words.

All in all, not exactly how he'd envisioned reuniting with Foggy. 

He groaned. The seat was cool against his cheek, but the smell was...not great. He felt a cool, damp cloth brush against his face.

"Come on," Foggy was saying. Matt realized Foggy was trying to tug him to his feet. "Let's get you in bed, huh?"

"’M sorry," Matt muttered, as Foggy's arm wrapped around his waist, supporting him up on legs that felt like rubber. His chin rested on Foggy's shoulder and he breathed in the scent of Foggy's shampoo as Foggy's hair tickled his cheek.

God, he'd missed Foggy. He loved Foggy so much. He hadn't let himself think about how much. No, that wasn't true. He'd thought about it. He'd thought about how it was better for Foggy to be away from him, and it was what Foggy wanted, so the fact that he felt like his heart bad been ripped out and danced on by Stilt-Man in his stilts was really, in the long run, fairly immaterial. He'd been in love with Foggy without having him for so long. What was a little distance? Estrangement? Foggy was better off.

"Matt?" Foggy was saying. His voice echoed distantly. His hands were on Matt's side, his face, his back.

Matt settled onto something soft that surrounded him in _Foggy_ and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again it was to considerably more clarity. His head hurt. His stomach was still tight, uncomfortable, but the discomfort was much less urgent than it had been. Foggy's apartment smelled familiar. Comforting. Like the first time since his dad had died that he'd started to think of any place as _home._  He could feel the warmth of morning sunlight on his face.

Except...shit, shit, shit.

He was still in Foggy's apartment. He was in Foggy's _bed._

He and Foggy weren’t even speaking and somehow he’d ended up in _Foggy’s bed._

He moved to sit up and everything tilted around him. He groaned as the sharpness of the ache in his skull increased by a magnitude or three and his stomach flipped and his radar did the laser show thing again again for several seconds. God, he hated concussions.

"Wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Matt froze. Normally he'd be able to ID Foggy in an instant from his heartbeat alone, but disoriented and surrounded by Foggy’s scent everywhere he simply... hadn't sensed him. Slipping out unnoticed wasn't going to be an option.

"Didn't see you there," was all he said.

Foggy's brief silence was unamused. "Blind jokes? Really?"

"No," Matt said truthfully, trying to ignore the way the sound of his own voice was like a jackhammer to his skull. "Radar's still a little, uh, off. I'll get out of your hair."

"That's it?" Foggy said. There might have been some hurt in his tone, but no, that had to be wishful thinking. Foggy didn't want him around. Foggy had made that clear.

"I mean, thanks," Matt said. "For putting me up all night. Taking care of me. I, uh… I was a little confused when I came here."

"Confused," Foggy echoed in an utterly brittle tone. "Yeah, Matt. Okay."

Matt's head throbbed. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what Foggy wanted him to say.

He sucked in a short breath as he straightened fully, freeing himself from the covers. When he stood he had to hold onto the bedframe for support as another wave of dizziness assailed him. Fractured ribs ground together and it was only years of practice that kept his expression neutral. He wished he knew whether Foggy was glaring at him. Foggy's heart was racing.

"You don't remember anything you said, do you?" Foggy said.

Matt stopped short. Hazy, pain-spiked memories floated through his mind, but...no culprit. Nothing he'd _said._

"...No?"

Foggy's heart beat faster. Matt registered the slight uptick in his body temperature that usually meant he was pissed.

"I was doing fine," Foggy snapped. "After everything you put me through. All those years. I picked up and made a new life without you in it, and I was doing fine!"

"I know. I shouldn't have come," Matt said. That much he was sure of. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry. Wow. Great." Foggy practically spat out the words. "So I'm supposed to what, just go back to my life and forget this ever happened?"

"Yes!" Matt said. It really wasn't fair. He'd stayed away from Foggy, like Foggy had wanted, and one little concussion-fueled mistake wasn't going to change that. Foggy had no right to be so angry when he was the one who had decided they couldn't be friends--

"And when the _fuck_ you were going to mention that you’re in love with me?!" Foggy yelled.

Matt's mouth shut, and he opened it again, and closed it. Everything was twisting around him, only this time, it wasn't only his radar. He couldn't get enough air. His own heart had started racing in time to Foggy's.

"Matt?" Foggy said, "Matt, sit back down before you fall down."

Matt ignored that. He wasn't sure he could get his legs to bend the right way anyway and the last thing he needed was to wind up on the floor. "You...I said...what?"

"You really don't remember," Foggy said. "Unbelievable."

"Foggy," Matt said carefully, but his head was hurting even worse now from all the yelling, and he bowed over grimacing as he tried to focus. This was important. This was more important than a little pain. "What exactly did I say?"

"Oh, only that you missed me and you were in love with me and being away from me was, and I quote, akin to having your heart ripped out and danced on by Stilt-Man in his stilts."

There was a beat in which Matt processed that information. He could remember thinking it, now. Somewhere in between the flashes of agony and disorientation and puking his guts out and...and not really being sure what words were making it out of his mouth.

God, his head hurt.

"Did you mean it?" Foggy asked.

Matt considered lying. He'd lied about so many other things, for so long. A rambling confession made while his brain was jelly from a close encounter with a cinder block? Not exactly the kind of testimony that stood up in court. He could deny it. Foggy would have to accept that.

"Yes," he said. "Every word."

He felt, more than anything, exhausted. His head throbbed fiercely. He was shaking.

Foggy didn't answer for a few seconds. Matt tried to hone in on his heartbeat, to read his answer in its rhythm, but it eluded him. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't…couldn't...

His knees folded. The mattress springs creaked under him as he landed clumsily, one hand still wrapped around the bedpost. The impact sent shards of pain through his skull and his ribs and his face must have showed it because suddenly Foggy was a lot closer, one hand gripping his shoulder anxiously.

"Jesus, Matty, you okay? Is this a night nurse kind of situation?"

"No," Matt said, pressing his throbbing head into his hands. "I'm fine. I just need a...a minute. Nnn."

"Okay...okay." Foggy's hand on his shoulder was caressing his back again. Matt tried not to lean into the touch as desperately as he wanted to.

He breathed in Foggy's scent, freshly showered, in a worn T-shirt because it was Saturday, and wondered if this was going to be the last time he ever got to be so close. Foggy had already told him to stay away. There was no doubt in his mind that this would clinch it. Pathetic, unwanted feelings for your best friend were bad enough when you were on speaking terms. Of all the things for him to have spilled while he was rattled silly.

Several seconds passed. As the worst of the pain subsided, Matt let his hands drop and lifted his chin. Foggy had been right about one thing, at least. Standing up had been a bad idea.

Foggy said, "You should have told me."

It took all the willpower he had not to bury his face in his hands again, for a very different reason. "Why?"

"Really? You're really going to ask me that?" Foggy said. The weight of his hand still on Matt's shoulder was the only thing that softened the words. "After everything we've been through."

"You're the one who wanted to be left alone," Matt said tiredly. "And I did. I gave you space. What I felt--feel--want--who the hell cares?"

There was another beat. Foggy’s heart pounded. Matt tensed, because he knew exactly what that meant.

Foggy was going to tell him, once and for all, that there was nothing between them. That Matt had been his friend once, but that was all, and Matt could take his pining and his late-night fantasies and shove them where the sun didn't shine.

" _I_ care, you ass," Foggy said. "All this time, super senses and purple children mind fucks and all, you're telling me, what, you _really_ had no idea that I had feelings for you, too?"

"I…" Matt stalled, for once, totally lost for words.

"You didn't," Foggy said, like it was a revelation. His grip on Matt's shoulder tightened. "Matty, I...oh, Jesus…"

It was a small comfort that Foggy was starting to sound just as adrift as Matt.

Suddenly, the pounding seemed to recede. Or at least, something that had been murky became clear. Like the lines of his radar resolving, finally, into a pattern he understood. He knew what he needed to say.

"I didn't know what the purple children were going to do to you, or anyone," Matt said. "I told you who I was as soon as I figured it out. But... I'm sorry. Really. For everything that being my friend has done to you. And I understand if you don't want any more of it. But…" he sighed, and let his eyes drift closed. "I meant what I said. I hate being apart. I miss you, and I...I love you. I have for a really long time."

"Thank you," Foggy said, and at Matt's quizzical frown he added, "I mean, thank you for apologizing. That's all I wanted. To know that you care, a little bit, about what your stupid soap opera of a life has done to mine."

Matt bowed his head again, the familiar fingers of guilt pulling at his psyche, threatening to drag him down to a place he was tired of wallowing.  "Of course I care."

"Okay," Foggy said.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

And suddenly Foggy's fingers were carding lightly through his hair, careful of the tender spot on his temple, before sliding back down to his neck, one thumb caressing his skin. It made Matt want to lean into his touch and never pull away.

"I missed you too," Foggy said.

* * *

 

An hour later found Matt sitting on Foggy's couch, Foggy close enough that his knee grazed Matt's when he reached for a bagel from the platter he'd set out on the coffee table. Matt had showered and traded the soiled devil suit he’d slept in for a T-shirt and a pair of sweats that belonged to Foggy. His ribs hurt and his head still ached and the world tilted dizzily if he moved too fast, and he'd made it two bites into a cinnamon raisin bagel before discovering his stomach was not yet up to the task.

All in all, he felt better than he had in months.

He and Foggy were good. Or at least, getting there.

Foggy loved him back.

Foggy loved him.

_Foggy loved him._

"How bad does your head hurt right now?" Foggy asked.

"Uh," Matt floundered. The ache was persistent, the kind aspirin hadn't been able to take the edge off, but it was far from the worst headache he'd ever had. And it paled in comparison to the strange, buoyant feeling in his chest that he was pretty sure was just pure, unadulterated happiness. "Medium bad?"

"Medium, huh," Foggy said. His hand found Matt's and squeezed gently.

"I'll live," Matt shrugged.

“Good,” Foggy murmured.

Then Foggy was leaning in and his lips were grazing over Matts, soft and warm. He pulled just enough on Matt's lower lip with this teeth to make desire pool in Matt’s lower belly, and Matt tugged him closer, returning the kiss.

"Mm," Matt said, happily.

"All this time, huh," Foggy said, pulling away for a moment. "You really didn't know?"

"No," Matt said. His lips tingled where Foggy's had touched him. He just wanted Foggy to come back, pain or no pain.

"You're kind of an idiot, you know that?"

"Would an idiot get hit on the head by a cinder block and wander into the apartment of his estranged best friend and accidentally confess ten years of repressed feelings then pass out in his bed?" Matt said, reasonably.

“...Yes,” Foggy said.

This time, it was Matt who pulled Foggy in for a kiss, and it took much longer to for them to break apart. The distance between them on the couch had shrunk until Foggy was pressed against Matt's side. He'd probably be dealing with the effects of the concussion for days if not weeks, but this? This was one side effect he didn't mind at all.


End file.
